


I Felt The

by 912luvjaxlean



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, March 2018, Phryne's POV, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/912luvjaxlean/pseuds/912luvjaxlean
Summary: Phryne reflects on her time in Melbourne, her love of freedom, and her friend Jack.





	I Felt The

I felt the shyness of his smile, his serious demeanor, his sense of duty, his attention to detail. He would be a challenge. All work and no play was making Jack a dull boy.

I felt the need to change that. I wanted to undermine the construct he had created to feel safe. Didn’t he know that no one is really safe? Interesting that a fearful and anxious man would work at a jail. Interesting that a man who claimed a marriage is a marriage and maintained his vows even after a long separation from his wife, would find a mistress in his work.

I felt the desire to undermine that single pillar of the community in a most charming way with one gaudy night, only.

I felt his restraint, his constraint, his jailed emotions. The hesitation, self-bondage to domestic ideals, elevated ideas about marriage and fidelity, because it was a legal contract. And. though no longer a romance, he felt bound to his duty because the official papers weren’t signed yet.

I knew the kind of marriage my parents had. I saw no need for that kind of farce. I saw no need for a husband when I could have who I wanted, when I wanted, could freely love as I wanted. And, then I could leave or gently let them down when I saw someone even more delicious. What was a husband after all, but a nuisance, an authority figure, an income? But, I had my own income, I was my own authority. I had the power and the sex drive and the lovers. I was free.

I felt the jazz in my soul was complemented by his baritone notes. Though at times his own insecurity made atonal sounds of possessive control. How dare he speak for me or think for me or try to protect me? I could take care of myself. I had been doing it all my life. Who was he to interfere?

I felt the presence of his quiet strength, the grasp of his large hand at my sister’s uncovered grave. That handhold was an anchor against my falling into the abyss.

I felt the pressure of a desperate kiss in a French restaurant. His denial that he had actually kissed me with anything but life saving on his mind. There was no passion, he insisted. His juvenile taunt that I’d kissed him back. Of course I had. If one or both of us were going to die in that place, of course I kissed him.

I felt the confines of his fear when he spoke of his apprehension of my loss in a motor accident. He spoke of things being unbearable. I had reminded him earlier that I was still alive, so why the sorrow? I reminded him that I was who I was when he sought to change my driving habits, curtail my freedom, control me. 

I understood immediately that I had missed the moment. He was speaking about larger issues than my driving and recklessness. He was giving me up. I wasn’t ready for that. I gave men up not the other way around. I left them, they didn’t leave me. I threw a lifeline hoping he’d grab hold and I could pull him in. Not like landing a big fish or a catch, but to secure him to something. Anything.

I missed the whole moment. We talked at cross purposes, I heard an affront to my freedom. But, he was speaking about walls that had tumbled down, deep fractures, distress, confusion, uncertainty, shock. He left me there and went away alone. Alone to his own grief. And, I failed him.

I felt the distance even though he was in the same examining room with me. Mac forced us to work together on a case. We were painfully polite and trying to find a middle ground. He was detached. More distant than when I first met him. He had constructed new barriers. He didn’t want me to go, he needed me to go. He talked in riddles.

I felt that he dismissed my contributions in our cases. I had to remind him of my own skills and abilities. He acted like my superior as though I was in service to him. I was an independent operative, a lady detective, who could do what he did and probably better and faster.

 I felt the confusion, the fear. the emptiness when he walked away from me. I thought well leave then, coward, you are making a big mistake. I’m glad to see the last of you. Sayonara. As though I couldn’t continue on my own. As though I needed him in any way.

I felt the hardness of my attitude and the error in my thinking. It felt unbearable to see him march away. I held a pillar to stabilize my emotions. I was forced to reflect. I was forced to stop all forward motion. I felt overwhelmed with loss, confusion, regret, not only for the now but for the then. A serious man had made me take things seriously. Finally.

I felt the feebleness of my own words, my inability to comfort him, to reassure, to cajole him out of his prison of despair. My lack of depth when I prided myself on being an intellectual. My lady bountiful approach to spreading my wealth and doing good. My altruism, my independent thinking, my risk taking, my total belief in myself and my credo. All proven self-serving.

I realized I was a shallow pond and he was the Pacific Ocean.

I was a child and he was a man. I was an open woman with unrequited love for a closed man. He was too much of a father figure. I wanted to mother him. He told me what to do and I resented him. He walked off alone and I worried about him.

I felt the emotional link and I resented it. I felt ties that bind and I wondered how that had come about. I wanted a dalliance, a chance to liberate a repressed man. I wanted a tango, not a waltz. I craved crazy kisses, locked limbs, escape not commitment. 

I made him cry. I hurt him deeply. I hated myself. I wondered why he just couldn’t be a little more liberal minded, more fun loving, more loose and easy. I was trying to change him. He let me try to change him. He went back to his own old friend. He flirted with other women even untied a tennis star’s dress. He became natural with me, lightly touching me, he gave me a brooch in the shape of a swallowtail and pinned it to my bodice. His fingers gently pressured my breast. He offered his hand in courtly gestures. He acted as my consort. We looked well together.

He made me an honorary constable and gave me a badge and a warrant. He included me. Accepted me. Liked me. He stopped loving me.

I felt the relief he felt at not loving me except as a good friend. I felt glad that he had let go and now could reach for me.

I felt the freedom of being able to fly away with my father and return him to his marriage. I was able to make plans to fly away. Nothing and nobody tied me down. I would walk Dot down the aisle and then go off on further adventures. I would think fondly of the Wardlow waifs, the family I brought together and now left behind.

I felt free and energized, no longer burdened by the need to prove myself here in Melbourne. I showed them all! The ex-schoolmates who had belittled me when I was a grubby little girl. The Society pages were full of my exploits. I was an heiress, an aviatrix, a lady detective. I was The Honorable Phryne Fisher. I was somebody. They all knew it and were amazed.

Everyone but Jack Robinson. He knew me too well to be much impressed with my exploits. Or in awe of me. Or infatuated with me. Or surprised by me. Or in love with me. He just was my friend, comrade, kindred spirit. Unchanging with the years, holding my kite string steady in his loose grasp. 

He said once that he would never be an 'old friend', but would ever remain my true friend. I felt the love in that.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Kindred spirits alone do not change with the changing years.' L.M. Montgomery


End file.
